


I Could Be An Accident

by alexenglish



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Jock Stiles, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Missing Connection, Nerd Scott, Recreational Drug Use, Stoner Sciles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 07:26:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5282036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexenglish/pseuds/alexenglish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>MISSING CONNECTION<br/>WHERE: THE BETA ALPHA BETA FRAT PARTY<br/>WHEN: HALLOWEEN<br/>YOU: WEARING A TUNIC AND GOLD PAINT<br/>ME: A DASHING SOPHOMORE DRESSED IN A IRON MAN SHIRT<br/>WHAT: WE MADE OUT<br/>PLEASE CALL!</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Could Be An Accident

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dancingelf88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancingelf88/gifts).



> For Sciles day! Semi asked for "nerd!scott and fratboy!stiles meet at a party Scott is dragged to and end up hitting it off". This isn't really that.

“How does the search go?” Danny asks, sliding into the spot next to Stiles. Stiles fumbles his phone, closing out of the Grindr app with a clumsy slide of his thumb. So many abs, no recognizable plush lips. 

“It’s not,” Stiles says, drumming his hands on the table top where his lunch stays untouched. It’s not uncommon for Stiles not to eat because of the Adderall, but he didn’t take it today because it’s game day - because he _needs_ to eat. He just doesn’t have it in him, he’s too distracted. They’re going to run laps around him on the field, he knows it. 

“I feel like I’m in a Lifetime movie,” Jackson sneers, dumping his lunch in front of them, spreading his legs over the bench to claim his territory. He’ll move once Lydia decides she wants to join them, but no sooner. “Will Stilinski get the girl?”

“Guy,” Stiles corrects. “At least, I’m pretty sure.” It’s hard to recall. He was already drunk off tequila and buzzing from multiple beer pong victories, along with a hit or two of Boyd’s dank. Stiles is lucky he remembers what he does: Someone shorter than him - he had to tilt his head down - dark brown, fathomless eyes - dark hair, and the most charming smile Stiles has ever seen in his life.

“Holy shit,” Jackson says, leaning forward. “Did you finally get to suck a dick? What was it like?”

“We didn’t get that far,” Stiles mumbles, going hot. They made out like crazy, shoved up against the bathroom sink, the bathroom wall. Stiles picked whoever it was up at one point, and that’s when he -

“Stilinski barfed in the bathtub,” Danny says, with a smirk that’s entirely too satisfied. Stiles flips him off. 

“You did what now?” Lydia asks, sliding in smoothly next to Jackson. Boyd’s on her other side, and Isaac sinks down next to Danny, stealing a fry. Jackson pushes half of his food towards Lydia, but she ignores it, eyes narrowed in Stiles’ direction. It’s not that serious, but she’s making it seem like it is, gaze calculating in a way that Stiles knows is dangerous. 

“I tried to hook up with someone at the Halloween party, but I puked before I could make it to second base.”

Lydia stares at him a little longer, before she gets a bored look on her face.

“That’s tragic,” she says, with a flip of her hair.

“So, what’s this guy like?” Isaac asks, leaning around Danny. 

“I don’t really remember,” Stiles says, leg bouncing under the table. Jackson kicks him, to make him stop, but Stiles just kicks him back harder. “I mean, dark eyes and dark hair. He was a wearing a mask -”

“Like everyone else,” Boyd mutters, with a roll of his eyes. 

“Like everyone else, but he was wearing a tunic,” Stiles says, he’s gone over the details in his head multiple times. There was a group of party goers that came together dressed in tunics. They were all sprayed with gold. “I think he was a god or some shit. I was covered in gold the next day.”

He took a picture and put it up on Instagram with the caption: “so you can’t hold a star in your hand”. It’s a vague hipster lyric that he doesn’t really want anyone to comment on. He’s pining hard for someone he can’t remember, someone who had half their face covered by a cheap, dollar store mask. All he wants is a chance to rectify the vomiting, and maybe get a date - definitely get laid. 

“All of Lydia’s friends came in in tunics,” Jackson says, slowly. Everyone turns to stare at her. 

“Wait -”

“No.”

“ _What_?”

“Absolutely not,” she says, staring at him. 

“Do you know who it was?” Stiles demands. He’s going to stalk her social media so hard, he’s going to creep the over-loving shit out of her social media. 

“I _might_ ,” she says, slowly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to tell you.”

“Why not?” everyone at the table asks her, with varying degrees of incredulity. At least he’s not the only one invested in the outcome of this. Of course, he suspects some of them just want him to find this guy so he’ll shut up about it. Plus, it’s a well-known fact that he plays lacrosse better when he’s getting laid on the reg. 

“It’s been _weeks_ -” Lydia starts, but Stiles steam rolls over her,

“I posted a flyer on every update board, in every dorm building, in all the frats. I’ve hunted all around for pictures of that party. I even got a _Grindr_ to find gay, bi, and curious guys in my area! What more do you want from me?”

“To not be a slimy asshole about the whole thing?” Lydia says, with a sniff. Stiles’ mouth drops open. “The fact that you think you even deserve to find this person - let alone that this person wants to find _you_.”

“Why wouldn’t they?” Stiles demands, before he thinks better of it. That’s not the right thing to say. Lydia’s mouth snaps shut with a crack. “I just mean, they wanted to make out with me, right? What’s the harm?”

“The harm is the fact that you’ve constantly got your head up your ass about having sex with people,” Lydia says, low and condescending. Stiles stares at her. He didn’t know she had such strong opinions about his personal life.

“It’s not about that,” Stiles snarls, even though he doesn’t know what it is about. Hypothetically, it’s just a sex thing. All of his motivation to find this person is based off of a drunken make out and this _urge_ that he gets when he thinks about it. 

“Sure, Stiles,” Lydia says, rolling her eyes. She pulls out her phone, signalling the end of the discussion. 

“This isn’t over,” he says, before getting up and stalking off. The minute he gets out of the building, he pulls up her Facebook. She doesn’t post a lot of group pictures because she’s a minimalist and everything is about her academic life, but she’s tagged in a status about the Halloween party. He link jumps as he walks, trying to find someone who doesn’t have their whole profile locked down. 

Eventually he comes out of it with a new appreciation for the hotness of Lydia’s friends, and a name: _Scott McCall._

 

 

The one thing Stiles didn’t anticipate was Scott McCall being notoriously hard to pin down. According to his Facebook, he hasn’t updated in 10 months, but he’s been tagged in stuff. The photos on Halloween are the only photos of him at a party. Sometimes it’s inspirational mother-son quotes from a ‘Melissa McCall’, who Stiles assumes is Scott’s mom, but most of the time it’s nerdy jokes that Stiles doesn’t really get. 

So, Scott doesn’t seem to get out much. He’s not overly invested in social media like most people. Stiles is mediumly invested in social media, he posts pictures and updates, but not all the time. The coach insists they check in during game season, and Stiles obliges because it generates interest. Scott doesn’t check in on game day. Scott doesn’t have a game day. Stiles is pretty sure Scott is a little nerdy. It’s not a deal breaker, but it’s kinda strange for Stiles. 

Regardless. Regard _less_. Scott McCall is _hard to find_. 

Stiles refuses to give up, though, he even puts up new poster:

**MISSING CONNECTION**

**WHERE: THE BETA ALPHA BETA FRAT PARTY**

**WHEN: HALLOWEEN**

**YOU: WEARING A TUNIC AND GOLD PAINT**

**ME: A DASHING SOPHOMORE DRESSED IN A IRON MAN SHIRT**

**WHAT: WE MADE OUT**

**PLEASE CALL!**

It’s not Stiles’ best work, but if Scott saw it, he would _know_. Unless he was more wasted than Stiles, but Stiles doubts that. The tunic group came in after full game of beer pong, there’s no way Scott could go from 0 to 60 that quickly. Unless he was a lightweight. 

Stiles hasn’t dated a lightweight before.

Not that Stiles is dating one now, or thinks he’ll _be_ dating one even if he does find Scott. He’s trying to be open minded about the whole thing, he really is. It’s just - he doesn’t think he would feel this strongly about finding Scott if there wasn’t _something_. 

Stiles is not a romantic, not really, but this feels different, like there’s a reason that they met. The universe is just an asshole, and decided that Stiles needed to suffer for his soulmate first, or some shit.

It only takes three hours for Lydia to find him and shove the flier in his face.

“Are you kidding me with this?” she asks. “This is actually embarrassing.”

“If you would just intro _duce_ me,” Stiles says, snatching the flier from her and smoothing it out. He wonders where this one came from; he plastered the fliers all over the place. 

“That’s not my choice,” she says, with a sigh, pushing her hair out of her face. “Trust me, if I could I would, if only to get the both of you to shut up -”

“The _both_ of us?” Stiles asks, gripping the paper in his excitement. It crumples considerably, but that doesn’t matter, what matters is that Lydia used _plural_. “Scott’s talking about me?”

“Who gave you that name?” she demands.

“I found it.”

“By being a _stalker_?”

“I look at your Facebook!” he protests. “Then there was a Malia and maybe a Liam, anyway, that doesn’t matter. It was Scott McCall at the party, wasn’t it?”

“Stiles,” she says, sharply, eyes darting around.

“Please introduce me,” Stiles says. He will grovel. He will totally grovel and beg and owe her favors. “I just want a chance to ask him on a date, please? I can’t stop thinking about him, it’s driving me nuts. If anything I need _closure_.”

“A date?” she asks, eyeing him up and down.

“I literally just said that! Do you think I would go to these lengths just to get _laid_?”

“It’s _you_ , Stiles,” Lydia says, but the look on her face suggests he’s close to getting his way. He’s trying not to get his hopes up, but it feels like the tipping point. 

“C’mon Lyds, you know me,” he insists, smiling at her with as much charm as he can muster. It’s not a lot, he knows. “It’s _mostly_ rumors, you know that.”

“That you don’t dispute!”

“Reputations are important,” he protests, even though he knows it’s weak. People talk about him because he’s on the lacrosse team, going to Beacon U on scholarship. They talk about him because he’s friends with people like Jackson Whittemore, and the rumors about people like Jackson Whittemore are actually true, so they assume Stiles’ rumors are true too. 

Not that he doesn’t indulge in casual sex, and yes, his nudes _are_ on that one Tumblr dedicated to Beacon U’s dick pics. He won’t lie about that, he’s probably spurned _some_ people, but it’s not nearly as bad as the _rumors_ make it out to be and Lydia knows that. At least, she should. 

“I want a date, I swear,” Stiles says. “I will be a total gentleman for as long as he wants me to be.”

“I don’t know…” she says, but she’s close to breaking, Stiles can tell. 

“Wine and dine, Lydia, wine and dine like you’ve never seen before. What’s the issue? Does he hate jocks that much?”

“What? No,” she says, rolling her eyes. She stares at him before smirk. It’s a little disconcerting. “He’s just worried because he knows your reputation.”

“And you corrected him, right?” 

“Sure, but that doesn’t really change the fact that he’s nervous,” she says, shrugging. She’s started walking towards the community center. Stiles walks after her, blindly trailing as she pulls his fliers off the bulletin boards. He would protest, but he doesn’t want to evoke her wrath. 

“Why is he nervous?” Stiles prods, once he realizes she’s not going to explain herself. He didn’t realize how many fliers he put up. Old and new. There’s a steadily thickening stack in her hand as they pass more boards, winding their way through the common areas. 

They’re headed towards one of the student cafes, and Stiles isn’t trying to get his hopes up, he’s really not, not at all, but - if she was taking him to Scott, then he wouldn’t be surprised. They’re walking with _purpose_. 

“Because he’s a nerd,” she says, with a scoff. “A nerd like I’m secretly a nerd. He spends a lot of time in the library and research labs.” They’re around the corner from the cafe when she stops and watches him. The stack in her hand is ridiculous. Looking at it, he can admit to being overzealous. The lone flier crumples in his hand, he didn’t realize he was still holding it.

“I like Star Wars,” Stiles says, weakly. It doesn’t matter if Scott is a nerd. All Stiles wants to do is take him to the movies, smoke him out, and make out a little bit. He wants to see what this _spark_ is. Maybe he’s the only one who feels it, but he’s not letting it get away. 

“He’s seen your stupid fliers,” she says. “He knows exactly who you are. He knew who you were when he made out with you at the party. He knows you’re this lacrosse star who has no fucks to give, and parties too much. He’s nervous because he’s a biochem major with a cat obsession and a virgin -”

“He’s a _virgin_ -”

Lydia holds up her hand to stop his train of thought.

“He doesn’t think he’s good enough for you,” she says, sharply. “Which is bullshit. If anything you’re not good enough for him -”

“Whoa, there -”

“I’m just saying,” she says, voice softening. “He’s totally an adult, but he doesn’t really - he doesn’t go to frat parties and make out with lacrosse stars in the bathroom.”

“So, you’re saying this is delicate,” Stiles says, shifting his weight. He feels so anxious all of a sudden, he’s choking on it. All of this talking it up. What if it doesn’t work out? What if this is just an inflated drunken projection? Maybe he manufactured this whole _connection_ because he wants it to be true - “I don’t think I can do this.”

He feels a little sick. 

“Oh no,” she says, jabbing him with the stack of papers. “You’re doing this.”

“You can’t bully me into it!” he protests, but he knows she’s right. When he closes his eyes, he thinks about the silkiness of Scott’s lips, the way they felt perfect pressed together. Before he dragged Scott into the bathroom, they were dancing and laughing and Stiles felt like there was a supernova under his skin.

“Look at these fliers!” she says, waving the stack at him. The papers fan out. There truly is a ridiculous amount. “This is not me bullying you. This is you being a desperate hot mess, and that -” she jerks her thumb towards the cafe, “is the payoff of your desperation.”

“Okay,” he says. 

“Okay,” she says. Then flicks her hair over her shoulder, and straightens her skirt. “Just follow my lead.”

Lydia turns and goes into the cafe, heading towards a table in the corner. Scott’s there, with his back to Stiles. Stiles doesn’t know how he can recognize the back of Scott’s head, but he can. The dark brown hair, the way he’s slouching in his seat. There’s a handful of people at the table, coffee and books spread out, but they’re all talking, laughing. For some reason Boyd is with them, with Kira Yukimura, Stiles’ sometimes drug dealer, on his lap. Stiles hadn’t realized their social groups intersected so much.

Stiles hangs back, trying to avoid being noticed, and to see what Lydia is going to do. A blonde notices him, but she looks away quickly, raises an eyebrow at Lydia as she approaches. Stiles can’t see Lydia’s face, but he sees her shrug. Boyd meets his eyes, shrugs, and Kira sees him too, face blooming open in recognition before the blonde nudges her and Kira’s mouth snaps shut. 

The papers fall with an embarrassing _thud_ when Lydia drops them on the table. Everyone bursts out laughing while Scott stares at them.

“There’s more,” Lydia says, like they’re continuing a conversation. Stiles hangs back, hovering where Scott can’t see him. 

“Oh my god,” Scott says. He touches the papers softly. His hands are small, delicate. Stiles thinks about them sliding over his hips and squirms. This was such a bad idea. He can feel his body heating up in earnest. A messy mixture of anxiety and humiliation and excitement. 

“You should talk to him,” the blonde says, eyes darting to Stiles before she looks at Scott, face carefully blank. Next to her, Kira looks like she’s trying really hard not to laugh. 

“I can’t,” Scott says, and Stiles’ heart beats hard. How long is it acceptable to linger behind him while they’re talking about Stiles? Fuck it.

“Why not?” he asks, before he thinks better of it, stepping up next to Lydia. She moves out of the way, but Stiles isn’t concerned. He’s concerned with the way Scott’s gaze snaps to his face, the way his eyes widen. He’s concerned with the way Scott goes pink, squirms. 

There are thick black frames perched on his face, and he’s - Stiles wants to eat him up. He’s more beautiful than any of Stiles’ drunken memories could supply. The only thing his brain got right was Scott’s mouth - plush and biteable and red and wet. Scott stands quickly, almost tipping the chair, bending to set it right. 

“I, what,” Scott says, popping back up. Stiles tries not to laugh, but he can’t help it. Scott looks so earnest, confused. 

“Why can’t you talk to me?”

“I don’t know,” Scott says, eyes darting to Lydia before he frowns. “Can we -” He grabs Stiles’ arm and pulls him away from the table, out the cafe doors. Stiles lets himself be led away, happy to have Scott’s warm hand on him. 

“What’s up?” Stiles asks, pushing the words past his thickening tongue. He’s almost too nervous to speak, but he has to. There’s no way he’s letting this slip away. 

“What are you doing here?” Scott asks. He’s shorter than Stiles by a couple of inches, relatively stocky and wearing a soft henley that makes Stiles want to snuggle him up. 

“I’ve been trying to find you,” Stiles says, with a pop of his shoulders. He doesn’t know how to play this. If he acts too cool, then Scott might be turned off, but Scott knows who he is, according to Lydia. Scott has to know how he acts. Stiles is a true spaz, but only towards people he knows well. Everyone else thinks he’s some sort of devil-may-care bad boy. While it’s a ridiculous notion, it’s helpful in the sense that everyone leaves him alone.

Maybe Scott is intimidated by that, by the fact that Stiles doesn’t really like people, despite being a well known athlete. Stiles has no idea, he just wants to skip all the formality. 

“I mean, you know,” Stiles says. “You’ve had to have seen the fliers.”

“Dude, they’re everywhere.”

“Why didn’t you call?” Stiles asks. It’s possible Lydia read Scott’s signals wrong. Maybe Scott was creeped out by Stiles’ efforts. Maybe Scott wants Stiles as far away from him as possible. 

“What was I supposed to say?” Scott asks, weakly. The wind is tussling his hair, the sun makes his eyes sparkle. Oh god, Stiles is so fucked.

“‘Hey this is the guy you made out with weeks ago, want to catch a movie?’” Stiles says, pantomiming a phone call. 

“I - really?” 

“Really, really,” Stiles says, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, that’s where I was going to start. Movie, maybe at my place. Then we could have a beer and smoke. I’ll make awkward jokes about your virginity and come onto you. If you’re down, we can make out.”

“Lydia told you about the v-card?” Scott asks, with a wince. 

“Totally, but it’s all good, we were all virgins at one point,” Stiles says, with a grin. He’s not going to tell Scott that he finds it endearing. That might be creepy. 

“How long has it been since you were a virgin?” Scott asks. It sounds like an accusation. 

“Touché,” Stiles says, with a laugh, but doesn’t answer the question. Now is not the time for discussing Stiles’ sex life. “So what do you say? Movie and make out? If you’re lucky, I’ll throw in one of those gourmet mac and cheese oven bakes.”

“Fuck it, why not?” Scott says. Stiles’ heart jumps up into his throat, making his exhale stutter out in relief. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, it’s a date,” Scott says. 

“Oh fuck yes,” Stiles says, before launching himself at Scott and dragging him into a bruising kiss. He feels Scott laugh against his mouth, and sag into his arms, kissing Stiles back. 

 

 

The apartment is cleaner than it was when Stiles got home. Even if he did just shove everything into various closet spaces and kick Boyd out of the house, it’s miles better than it was. The mac and cheese takes nearly two hours to bake, so it’s already in the oven. He cleaned his bong, washed his balls, and changed his shirt. 

Stiles is so nervous he feels like he’s going to puke. 

He and Scott have kept up a steady stream of text messaging. It’s almost scary how easy Scott is to talk to, even though their interests seem to barely intersect. Stiles has been checking his phone every minute, anticipating new text messages. The newest subject they’re going to talk about - or argue about - is Star Wars. Scott likes the prequels, which makes him a complete disgrace to nerds everywhere. 

Last night, they even dipped their toe into sexting, and it was fucking _thrilling_. Scott just replied incoherently while Stiles told him every dirty thought that’s entered his mind about Scott since Halloween. There were a lot of dirty thoughts, honestly, but Scott didn’t seem to mind, just kept egging him on. 

He might be a virgin in practice, but Scott has the heart of a slut, and Stiles is all about it. 

By the time Scott gets there, the mac and cheese is half way done and Stiles has managed to calm down 20%. When he hears the knock, his adrenaline kicks up again, but that can’t be helped. 

“Hey, hi,” Stiles says, pulling open the door with enthusiasm. Scott jumps a little, pushing his glasses up his nose with a laugh as Stiles yanks him inside and pins him to the door to kiss him. It always takes a minute to get it right, noses bumping and teeth clicking together, but god. Stiles could lose himself in Scott’s kisses. 

“Hey, hi,” Scott echoes, pushing them off the door. They walk towards the couch in a tangle of limbs, giggling into each other’s mouths. 

“I’m making food,” Stiles says, barely pulling away long enough to say it. Scott chases his mouth, licks his lips and teeth, pressing their bodies together. “I have weed.”

“Right, we have a plan,” Scott says, pulling away. His mouth is swollen and plump already, blush riding his cheeks. 

“Unless you want to skip the plan,” Stiles says, slipping his hands under the hem of Scott’s shirt. Scott’s stomach jumps when he skims his fingers over Scott’s skin. Stiles hears him inhale sharply and grins. “I can just jerk you off right now.”

“That is a good plan too,” Scott admits, but he’s pulling away. Stiles chases his mouth with a wounded noise. “But we should eat, I am starving.”

“And smoke?” Stiles says. He cleaned his bong for this.

“And smoke. Then, you can jerk me off.”

Stiles squeaks, and laughs into Scott’s neck, unable to handle it. 

“I feel like I’m ruining you,” he says. “Taking your virginity after only talking to you for a few days.”

“Eh, what’s virginity?” Scott asks, but it’s quieter. 

“If it matters to you, we can wait,” Stiles says, seriously. He might have a raging boner, but it’s something he can ignore if need be. “I am down to smoke and make out and that’s it. This whole dating thing is nice, it’s flexing my romance muscle.”

“What romance muscle?” Scott snorts, before moving off Stiles completely. He adjusts himself, and stretches while Stiles watches. 

“Exactly, it’s tiny, I need the work out,” Stiles says, standing and grabbing Scott, drawing him in. “I’m serious, though, if you want to wait.”

“Me too,” Scott says, pressing a kiss to Stiles’ mouth. “We’re getting stoned and you can totally touch my dick.”

“Hallelujah!”

It turns out Scott brought weed, because he’s a gentleman, so Stiles lets him load the bowl and take the first rip. Stiles watches as Scott seals his mouth to the bong opening, cheeks hollowing as he inhales. The smoke curls from his plush mouth, and Stiles can’t look away, doesn’t really want to.

They pass the bong back and forth a couple of times before Scott grabs Stiles around the jaw gently and presses their lips together. Stiles drinks the smoke from his mouth and melts into his touch, feeling hazy and loose. 

“I can’t forget about the mac and cheese,” Stiles says, unsure of how much time has even passed since they started smoking. 

“We have like 40 minutes, dude,” Scott says, sliding his hand into the short hairs at Stiles’ nape. Stiles is nodding, fuzzy, as Scott presses kisses along his neck and jaw and ear. They kiss and kiss and Stiles falls into it, letting it wash over him. 

All of his nerves are fizzling with the attention. Scott’s petting his hands over Stiles’ pulse, his arms, anywhere he can touch. It’s making Stiles sensitive and desperate to be touched, to touch. He drags himself out of the haze and presses Scott back into the couch, climbing on top of him. 

Scott goes easily, smiling in that pretty way of his. Stiles wants to say he looks reverent, but that could be the pot talking. Stiles licks up Scott’s neck, listening to the way Scott moans and pants underneath him. 

It’s hard to focus on too many things at once. He gets the taste of Scott’s skin on his tongue, and spends whole minutes worrying bruises into the delicate skin of Scott’s neck. Only after there’s two hickies does he realize that Scott’s whimpering underneath him, squirming. They’re both hard, hips rocking against each other mindlessly. Stiles could probably rut against Scott until they came in their pants, but he wants to get his hands on Scott, wants to strip Scott down and watch him unravel, so Stiles forces himself to back off. 

He peels off their shirts, gets his mouth on Scott’s chest. Scott’s nearly nonverbal, hips stuttering up every so often, breathing hard and fast as Stiles licks over his nipples, sucks bruises into his skin. 

“Are you okay?” Stiles asks, pulling back. Scott has his eyes screwed shut tightly, hands gripping Stiles hard. Every point of contact is hot, like an electric shock. There’s a hard tingle running under Stiles’ skin, he’s lit up all over.

“Yeah, I just,” Scott says, licking his lips. When his eyes spring open, his pupils are huge, blown wide. It feels like Stiles is drowning in them, fathomless. “I’m buzzing hard, everything feels so good.”

“You’re going to come in like two seconds,” Stiles says, nuzzling into Scott’s neck. He’s pretty sure they’re both sweating, but there’s too much sensory information to tell.

“Hey now,” Scott protests, belatedly, after a few more kisses, a few more moans into Stiles’ mouth.

“Wanna see?” Stiles asks, fingers already on Scott’s zipper.

“Yeah,” Scott pants, shoving Stiles’ hand off so he can unzip himself. He shoves his pants down and pulls Stiles into a hard kiss. Stiles drags his fingers over the sharp jut of Scott’s hip, then grips his dick, jacking him off. His dick is fat and wet at the tip, it helps with the slide.

True to prediction, Scott comes in no more than two strokes, muscles going tense as he whimpers and spills over Stiles’ fist, onto his stomach, onto his shirt. 

“Told you,” Stiles says, grinning as Scott grimaces in embarrassment. Stiles wipes his hand on Scott’s shirt, since it’s already ruined.

“Sorry,” Scott says, chest heaving. His glasses are foggy and crooked. Stiles reaches up to straighten them before he sits up and opens his jeans, shoving them down.

“Want to help, or just watch?” Stiles asks, gripping his dick. Scott stares at him, mouth open, before he slams it shut and reaches out.

“You should show me,” he says, touching Stiles’ cock lightly. Stiles hisses, hips stuttering. Scott just looks so _fascinated_. He wants to come all over Scott’s face, his glasses, but he’s not going to.

“Okay, here,” Stiles shoves Scott’s legs around so they're spread. Stiles settles against Scott, back to his chest, hips level. “Just do me like you would do you.”

“This seems unconventional,” Scott says, scooting forward to seal them together from shoulder to hip, hand wrapping around Stiles loosely, like he's testing the weight of his cock. Scott's other hand settles on Stiles’ hip and holds, mouth against the nape of Stiles’ neck. Stiles shivers and melts into the soft cradle of Scott's body. 

He lets Scott take the initiative, lets him decide what to do. It's all hesitant stroking at first, like he can't quite figure it out, but Stiles likes being _touched_ , the weight of Scott's hand. It doesn't take long for Scott to start jerking him off with intent, hand sliding along his length. 

When Stiles starts to feel closer to the edge, he digs his heels in, starts to give Scott commands, like _faster_ , _harder_. All of the sensory input is overwhelming: the sound of Scott’s breathing and echoing moans, the way his hand slides over Stiles tightly, his teeth sinking into the meat of Stiles’ shoulder. It’s glorious when Stiles finally comes, tipping right over the edge, and shuddering in Scott’s arms. 

“Holy shit,” Scott says, right up against his ear. “Holy shit, holy _shit_.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees, giggling a little helplessly. Scott’s stifles his laughter in Stiles’ shoulder, but it wracks through them both. Stiles feels so good, so fucking high. He turns his head to give Scott a chaste kiss. Scott’s mouth is soft and sweet. “I like you so fucking much.”

“I like you so fucking much too,” Scott says, nuzzling into Stiles’ neck. 

The way things are looking, finding Scott is going to be the best thing that’s happened to Stiles in a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> on tumblr @ queerlyalex!


End file.
